


trading faces

by hoppnhorn



Series: Harringrove Bits & Pieces [21]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Body Swap, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 22:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17010309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/pseuds/hoppnhorn
Summary: Only it’s not his hair that slides between his fingers. The silky texture and thick body arenothis. The straight strands where his curls should be nearly stop his heart and Billy tears across the room towards a mirror.What he sees staring back at him nearly puts him in the ground. He doesn’t hold back. He screams. He screams and grips the dresser and tries not to fall on his ass when his knees go wobbly.Screaming back at him in the mirror is Steve Harrington.





	trading faces

**Author's Note:**

> [body swap prompt from tumblr](https://hoppnhorn.tumblr.com/post/170347562853/fic-prompt-body-swap-au)  
> check out the post because other authors added on and it was awesomeeeee

Billy usually wakes up to the sound of his alarm shrieking. It’s his rock, that sound. His constant. It keeps him on task and out of Neil’s crosshairs. Even on weekends. Neil likes consistency so Billy remains consistent. 

When Billy opens his eyes, he stares up at the ceiling and realizes that he has slept in. The sun is shining, the birds are singing outside his window, and he is definitely going to get an ass-kicking for still lying in bed. Furious with himself, Billy throws off his blankets and goes to jump from his bed, only the movement doesn’t quite happen the way he planned. Something isn’t right with his legs when he swings them around. He doesn’t quite stick the landing and suddenly he’s tumbling off the bed onto the floor with a noisy thud.

That’s when he realizes…he is  _not_  in his room. The carpet is nicer, thicker under his knees and there’s actual furniture and  _are the walls plaid?_  Billy grasps the bedspread and peeks over the top. He’s alone. He’s alone in a bed that isn’t his in a room that he’s never seen before in his life. 

Panic sets in as he scrambles to remember  _anything_  about the night before. Nothing stands out. He’d come home, eaten at the table in silence, lifted a little before Neil bitched about him hogging the living room, and then retreated to his room to listen to his music before bed. He shakes his head and weaves his hands into his hair. 

Only it’s not his hair that slides between his fingers. The silky texture and thick body are  _not_ his. The straight strands where his curls should be nearly stop his heart and Billy tears across the room towards a mirror. 

What he sees staring back at him nearly puts him in the ground. He doesn’t hold back. He screams. He screams and grips the dresser and tries not to fall on his ass when his knees go wobbly. 

Screaming back at him in the mirror is Steve Harrington. 

“Steve!” A woman’s voice calls through the door and Billy whips around, stumbling as his body trembles. “What’s going on in there?” 

He looks back at himself in the mirror and Steve blinks at him. He pokes his cheek. Steve’s cheek. 

“Uh.” His voice is wrong. His voice isn’t his. He reaches out to steady himself on the dresser again, his heart in his stomach. “I saw a spider.” Billy offers lamely, with a voice too high and too smooth. Not his. Steve’s.

“Goodness. You scared me.” The woman replies and Billy is gasping for air, his pulse through the roof. “You’re gonna be late for school, sweetheart. I’ll make you some toast but you better scoot!” 

Her footsteps retreat and Billy wipes a cold sweat from his brow. If he wasn’t so  _goddamn freaked out_  he might have been moved by the sincere kindness of Steve’s mother. Instead, he’s wondering if he’s been kicked in the head and experiencing some kind of nightmare. 

“Wake up.” He hisses, smacking his face with a palm. Steve’s jaw colors in the mirror and Billy repeats the motion. “Wake up!”

Nope, no difference. Harrington’s big brown eyes still watch him in the glass, track his movements. 

“Fuck.” He ducks his head, breathing hard. “Fuck fuck fuck!” 

“STEVEN.” Mrs. Harrington calls from far away and Billy winces. “SCOOT.” 

“Yeah, I’m coming!” He bellows back, bolting for the closet on the far side of the room. Staring at endless hangers of polos and bright t-shirts, Billy whines in the back of his throat. “Fucking Harrington.” He tears through them, looking for something even  _remotely_  decent for him to wear. 

 

 

Steve is  _freaked the fuck out_. Not only is he  _not_  himself. He’s trapped in the body of the one person on earth he absolutely cannot stand. Not only that, but it seems like no one else can stand Billy Hargrove either. 

He hadn’t been awake more than ten seconds before a red-faced Neil Hargrove had all but ripped him out of bed, shouting he was going to be late. If that hadn’t been jarring enough, seeing his reflection in the bathroom mirror had him nearly fainting into the tub. Billy Hargrove’s body, Billy Hargrove’s house, Billy Hargrove’s face. He spent a solid half hour panicking as he dressed in a daze and bolted outside. 

He’d been so focused on getting to school, he’d nearly left without Max, who expressed her displeasure by scowling at him the entire way to school. He can’t think of anything to say. He’s too busy internally screaming.

“What are you dressed as?” Max finally asks when they pull into the parking lot and Steve glances down. He’s put on a pair of jeans and a sweater, nothing out of the ordinary.  _For him._

 _“_ Uh.” He grimaces at the rough, deep bass that flows from his mouth and clears his throat. “I didn’t have any clean clothes.” 

Max lifts an eyebrow before she exits the car without another word. He leans over and before he can say goodbye, she’s flipping him off and walking away. Steve’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click.

 _No one_ likes Billy Hargrove. 

Steve spends thirty minutes waiting outside the school for his BMW to appear in the lot, drumming his fingers on his legs and biting his nails. He gets curious stares from everyone who passes and an occasional, “ _nice sweater, Hargrove”._ He gives people strained smiles, which seems to only perplex them further as they hurry inside. The bell rings. Steve panics. And then the BMW screeches in to the lot. 

He about sobs with relief when he sees his car, jogging out to meet it before it has even come to a stop. Steve stumbles back, however, when he sees himself sitting behind the wheel, glaring daggers through the windshield. 

“Get in the fucking car.” He hears himself say. But it isn’t him, it’s Billy. He’d know the tone anywhere. “Jesus, what the fuck are you wearing?” Billy adds with a sneer and a shake of his head. “Fucking hell.” Steve rips open the passenger door to his car and falls inside. 

Billy doesn’t wait, he floors the BMW before Steve has his seatbelt on. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Steve hisses across the center console, hands shaking. “What the fuck!” 

“Me?!” Billy growls and Steve can’t quite get over his own voice snapping at him. “I haven’t done shit, Harrington. I went to bed myself and wake up looking LIKE THIS!” Billy gestures to himself and Steve scoffs. 

“Yeah, well, my morning hasn’t exactly been a picnic either, Hargrove. I’ve only been you for an hour and I hate myself.”

Billy laughs and it’s the cruelest thing Steve has heard come from  _his_  mouth.

“On that, pretty-” Billy shakes his head and growls. “On that, Steve, we can agree.”

Steve has never heard Billy truly address him by his first name and it stuns him a little. Leaves him panting in the passenger’s seat as his heart races.

“We gotta switch back.” He states aloud. Billy snorts.

“YA THINK?!” His eyes flash with fury and Steve recognizes it the expression. He’s seen it before, in icy blue. “LOOK AT YOU!” 

Steve looks down at the white sweater, pair of jeans, and simple sneakers on his feet. 

“What’s wrong with this?!” He shouts.

“I look like a FUCKING IDIOT.” Billy screams. Steve fumes. 

“Yeah and what about me?” He waves a hand between them. “Did you get dressed in the dark? Those pants are from middle school and where did you even  _find_ that shirt?” Billy grins and it’s a cruel, sneer of a thing. 

“What, afraid of showing a little skin, Harrington?” Billy leans back in the driver’s seat, revealing the cut of the  _crop top_  he’s pulled from what  _had_  to be the very back of Steve’s closet. “I’m doin’ you a fucking favor.” He adds with a grunt. “You dress like a fucking loser.” 

“I don’t dress like a loser!” Steve bellows, Billy’s throaty bass filling the car. 

“YOU DO TOO. I mean, what the  _fuck_  is that?” Billy gestures at the white sweater but his voice not nearly as threatening. Steve gives a flat, humorless laugh. 

“Maybe you’re just afraid that people won’t like you if you’re not showing off your ass all the time.”

The car comes to an abrupt stop and Steve realizes they’ve arrived at the quarry. Billy rips the transmission into park and pulls the keys from the ignition and suddenly they’re sitting in silence. Steve’s heart is the only sound he can hear as it rabbits in his ribs. 

“We gotta switch back.” Billy finally croaks. Steve rolls his eyes. 

“I already said that.”

“WELL FIGURE IT OUT!” Billy shouts. Steve’s blood boils and before he knows it, he’s kicking open the passenger door of his BMW and rounding the front. Billy follows suit and meets him on the driver’s side with a searing glare. “You gonna hit me, big guy?” He goads. 

Steve grabs Billy by the front his shirt and pulls. His arms,  _Billy’s arms,_ surprise him as he easily lifts Billy from the ground and slams him against the car. The look on his own face makes Steve’s insides shudder. His brown eyes go wide, mouth falls open, and Steve feels so powerful he could roar. 

He doesn’t. He pins Billy to the car, leans in close, and conjures up his best snarl. 

“Let’s make this clear, asshole.” Steve hisses. “I don’t want to hit my own face, but I’ll beat it bloody if you don’t cut the shit and act like a fucking PERSON for once in your life. Got me?” 

Billy fumes under him, but his resistance is nothing against Steve’s grip. He watches as Billy swallows and his struggling stops and Steve tries not to beam with pride as he finally  _wins_. For  _fucking_  once.

“Fine.” Billy bites out. “Get the fuck off me.” 

Steve obliges roughly, admittedly enjoying the way he can toss Billy around with ease. He’d never considered himself weak in comparison to Billy; in fact, he is almost certainly taller than the guy. But the  _strength_  Steve can feel in his legs, arms and even his hands makes him dizzy. 

“So.” He says evenly, rubbing one of his,  _Billy’s,_ rough palms with a thumb, pressing into the muscle. “Got any bright ideas, Hargrove?” 

Billy runs a hand through his hair and Steve wishes he could bat it away.  _Keep off_  his mind shrieks. But he masks the impulse by shoving his hands into his pockets. Billy chews on his lip before he meets Steve’s eye again and then he’s scoffing. 

“This shit is too weird.” He turns around and yanks open the driver’s side door, ducking inside the car. When he reappears, he’s already lighting a cigarette, puffing on it wildly. Steve arches a brow.

“Hey. Hey…easy on my lungs, dickhead.” Billy snorts and smoke leaks from his nostrils. Steve’s nostrils. He can’t help but realize how the move makes him look… _dangerous_. 

“If we’re gonna figure this shit out, Harrington, I’m gonna need a smoke.” Billy breathes and a grey cloud streaks from his lips. “Hell, I’m gonna need a few packs.” 

“One problem at a time, Hargrove.” Steve mutters, reaching out to pluck the lit cigarette from the guy’s fingers. He takes a deep lungful and shudders when his body,  _Billy’s body,_ all but purrs with pleasure at the smoke in his lungs. It calms him instantly, takes the roar out of his blood, and he hands it back. Billy’s smirking. 

“Better?” 

Steve nods, let’s the smoke flow from his mouth in a slow sigh, enjoying the burn. Billy’s eyes sparkle. His eyes. 

_Fuck._

_“_ Ask me again when we’re switched back.”


End file.
